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Granite Grind Autumn Spectacular - October 2012 |
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Fall Colors |
By convention, ride reports span not just the day and miles of the ride, but the pre- and post- as well. This report covers 60 seconds and 60 feet. Following our descent east from Kinsman Notch in a steady rain, Dave and I make our way along Route 112 in Lincoln. We come to a halt as a train finishes crossing the angled tracks from far left to near right on the far side of the intersection. Our way clear and the light green, Dave pushes ahead first. As he nears the tracks, I recall the familiar "approach on the perpendicular" admonition. Doing so, however, would require us to swing well out into traffic, an option we quickly discard. As Dave reaches the tracks, I notice that they are under what must be an inch or two of water. With soaked rims, stopping doesn't really present itself as a choice. At least, not the conventional way. The wheels in the picture at left remind us of a saying frequently heard in cycling circles: "Only our tires separate us from the road." Not true. Sometimes it's our Lycra. Dave's front wheel washes out to his left. He sprawls to his right. I've seen several crashed up close, and my first thought has always been the same, "How odd to see what was seconds ago a normally functioning bicycle-rider pairing now in a state of total disarray." My second thought has varied from "It certainly was fortunate to land on all those relatively soft bodies" (2009 Hub on Wheels) to "Dodged that bullet" (2012 The Flattest Century in the East) to "Hmm, how am I going to avoid replicating Dave's fate?" (now). Several options present themselves in the second or so I have to react. One, swing hard left (toward traffic) to avoid Dave's bike. Uh, no, not with the traffic, and not with what was demonstrably a slick surface. Two, swing hard right to avoid Dave. Ditto on the slick surface. Three and four, veer mildly to hit either Dave's bike (left) or Dave (right). Also out, for reasons both of traction and damage. That leaves five, shooting the gap, which fortuitously happens to be straight ahead. As a rule, the best cycling technique on a slick surface is to keep the bike vertical, the steering straight, the brakes released, and the pedals unloaded. I accomplish perhaps a few of these. Apparently, though, not enough. My front wheel washes out to my left. I sprawl to my right. I let loose a mild profanity. I slide lightly into Dave, having executed a near-perfect facsimile of his maneuver. A second or two pass and we both stand to take inventory. No head injuries. No broken bones. Only a bit of road rash (Dave). We mount up, clip in, and head on, 60 more feet under our wheels, 60 more seconds of stories to tell. |